Rumors of my Demise Have Been Greatly Exaggerated
by Room304
Summary: Joren's life takes a drastic turn after being convicted for a crime he DID commit. His loyalities change as he finds himself giving his all to protect a home he hasn't seen in eight years. A KJ story in later chapters 807:READ NEW NOTICE ON AUTHOR'S PAGE!
1. Anfang

AN: Let me just start off by saying that I haven't read the books in about four years, so some of my details could be off. I'm probably far too old to still be writing fanfiction, but I couldn't get this story out of my head. Hell, I don't even know if people still know who Joren is, or care enough to read stories about him. If you want more, review, otherwise, it ends. Oh, italics are first person, in Joren's pov. This could become K/J but I'm not sure yet. Oh, this takes place after Lalasa was kidnapped and becomes AU after that

_Regardless of whatever complaints I may have had about my life, I can never claim that it was boring. When I was young, my father used to tell me that the gods forgot to keep their eyes on me, that no one person could have as bad of luck as I did. My mother thought I was a curse. A punishment from the gods for the sins of my father. Of course, she never mentioned that theory to him. _

_If only my father could see me now. If he knew what I was trying to achieve, and who my current…allies are, he would roll over in his grave. That is, if he's actually dead. It seems that nowadays nobody stays dead anymore. _

_Before I get started, I just was to let it be known that I never claimed to be a good person. I know I'm "morally uninhibited", as the court put it, but for the record, I am trying. I do know that some people are just born without a conscience. I also know that I'm not one of them. I know I have a conscience, I just don't always listen to it. So don't judge me because I am very aware of what I am. Well, I guess now it's time to for me to share my story, huh?_

Chapter One: The Rogue Formerly Known as Joren of Stone Mountain

_Ok, so I know it was a stupid idea, but you have to understand how much I hated her. Not the maid, but her. The woman who my father affectionately addressed as The Whore. The Lady Page. You want to what the ironic part is? He was the one who gave me the idea to do it. But when I got caught, he pretended like he knew nothing of me, of how "obviously disturbed" I was. I bet you're wondering why I addressed my hatred for the whore (who, would murder me if she knew that I was addressing her as such) in past tense. Well, I guess it's because I only have enough in me to truly hate one person. And I could think of someone who deserved it much more._

"So how about how much will it cost to get him out of this?"

"It isn't a question of money," Lord Wyldon, the resident training master at the palace responded, tiredly leaning upon the old wooden desk in his office. From the second he heard the verdict of the young Stone Mountain's trial, he knew that this was going to be a long night.

Burchard sighed, running his hands over his face. He had a haggard look about him, with white-blond stubble dotting his chin and an aged expression hidden in his eyes. It was obvious that he hadn't slept since the beginning of the trial. He eyed the older man carefully. "It's always a question of money."

"No, Burchard, it's not. Your son committed a serious crime against our King; that can't be covered up by the exchange of a few hundred nobles."

Burchard barked out a sharp laugh. "A crime against the King? I'd hardly count what Joren did as a crime against the King."

Quietly, as to not set off the scene that he feared was coming, Wyldon spoke his next few words with extreme caution. "He kidnapped and threatened the life of a member of the Royal staff. I don't see how that can be seen as anything but."

The elder Stone Mountain's face contorted into an expression that can only be described as a scowl as his skin slowly turned a mottled purple color. "Royal Staff? Hardly! The bitch was nothing more than a maid --"

Wyldon held up a hand. "Burchard, please. Regardless of your … politics, you know that nothing I say can affect the court's decision. What's done is done."

"So what now? What's to happen to him?"

"Well, as much as I'd like to say that status doesn't affect the court's decision, the fact that he is of noble blood will keep him outside of a prison cell. However, he cannot continue his training to become a knight and has been exiled from the city of Corus for the next five years." The training master cringed after he released this news, fearing the explosion that was about to take place inside his office.

To his surprise, that explosion never occurred. After sitting in silence for what seemed like an eternity, Burchard just calmly walked across the office toward the door, with an expression of quiet resolve present on his face. Once at the threshold, he turned around and addressed Wyldon for a final time. "For seven generations, my family has valiantly served this kingdom and I won't let that record be broken. As of now, I have no son. I'll draw up the papers denouncing Joren's nobility tonight."

"Then what will become of him?"

"That's no longer my problem. In my eyes, he's already dead."


	2. Eins

**A big thanks to everyone who reviewed. I love you all!**

Sixteen year old Joren of Stone Mountain was said by many to be the spitting image of his father, from his white blond hair to his so-pale-it-was-practically-translucent skin and almost feminine bone structure. The likeness didn't just pertain to his physical appearance. The quick temper, strong intellect, and the narcissistic, egotistical air in which they viewed the world were also shared attributes. Joren's one saving grace, though, was the simple fact that only half of his unique genetic mix came from his father. Because his mother was a different case entirely.

Languidly spread across his plush mattress, Joren yawned, stretched, and calmly rolled over. The sun streamed in through the partially opened window of his bedroom in the palace, catching his hair and making it glow like strands of pure silver in the early morning light. His trial had concluded late yesterday afternoon, and he had lucked out yet again, completely avoiding jail time, but still awaiting "punishment". He knew it would be nothing but a slap on the wrists, and he couldn't believe his fortune. He couldn't help but smirk as his mother's fears entered his mind. 'Curse, my ass.' He rolled over and attempted to fall asleep again. Unfortunately, the second he closed his eyes, his door burst open. Joren jumped up, only to fall back down with an exasperated sigh once he saw the form of his father at the doorway. Burchard covered the distance of the room in what seemed like two strides, stopping directly beside the bed.

"Get up." Joren groaned and rolled over. "Now." When he made no attempt to move, Buchard reached down and grabbed a fistful of his son's shoulder-length hair, pulling the boy's head up from the pillow.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Without releasing his grip, Burchard shoved a fistful of parchment into his son's face. " Your horse is saddled up and waiting in the stables. You have exactly an hour to pack up your things and leave this city before the government will take you into custody. You cannot come back here for five years. If they find you, they'll arrest you." His expression was cold, distant, and his tone was monotonous. "Do not try to contact me or my wife. We have no connection to you anymore."

Joren spun out of his father's grip and turned to face him. "What are you talking about?"

"Come on now, Joren. You honestly didn't think that your actions would go without repercussions. Especially in a country as…progressive as this. You aren't allowed to return until the year after the whore has taken her ordeal, and you have to be blind to miss the irony in that. But you made this decision, so you must be able to deal with the consequences."

His blue eyes widened. "What? I made this decision? YOU were the one who -- " His accusation abruptly ended as Burchard's palm collided with his nose. Burchard once again threw the stack of papers onto Joren's lap. " Here. Reading material for the next five years." Joren looked up at his father with an expression of horror, the dark red blood seeping out of his nose a shocking contrast to his own pale skin. "If you ever try to contact us again, I'll kill you."

Joren's shock disappeared and was replaced with his usual stubborn expression, as he reached up to wipe the river of blood that was flooding out of his obviously broken nose. "I'm not leaving."

Burchard grinned sardonically for a brief moment before wrenching Joren up from the bed by his arm. He then grabbed a huge burlap sack from the closet and thrust it into Joren's free hand. "Either you pack you things now or you leave without them." When Joren didn't move, Burchard started hastily pulling Joren's possessions out of his closet and stuffing it into the bag. As his father moved on to the contents of his dresser, Joren impulsively ran a hand through his hair, stopping when the back of his head began to throb, due to his fathers unique wakeup call. He picked up an old shirt that his father had strewn across the floor, and held it up to his pouring nose. "This isn't happening."

The packing now complete, Burchard once again grasped Joren by his arm and drug him out of the room.

"Wait, I'm leaving now? Can I at least change clothes first?" Burchard sighed and released Joren's arm. "You have five minutes." Burchard thrust an outfit into his son's hands before walking out into the corridor, closing the door behind him. He quickly slipped out of his bloodied bedclothes and changed into the clothing his father left for him. Once dressed, he stood in what would soon no longer be his room, the possessions of his former life thrown about and lying in disheveled piles along the floor. His nose throbbed and he briefly wished that his weak Gift was a healing one. Weighing his options, Joren realized that there was no way to get out of this situation. Still, as he heard his father knock on the bedroom door, he made a break for the open window. He didn't even make it past the bed before his father had him in his clutches again.

_You know, it was probably my luck that my father would lead me directly past the one person that I would never want to see in my weakest moment. But there she was, walking down the corridor with her giant friend. At first glance, she seethed with hatred behind her stony mask, but then her look turned to one of shock and I was suddenly painfully aware of the blood that was streaming down my face. I must have looked like a monster._

Once the duo reached the palace stables, they were met by a servant holding the reigns to Joren's large black gelding. The horse had already been saddled and various camping supplies were already packed on. Burchard handed another servant Joren's bag of possessions, which were immediately tied on to the back of the horse.

"You're really going through with this?"

"You didn't leave me with much of a choice"

"And what about my mother? Does she know what you're doing?" Joren knew he was grasping at straws now.

"No, she doesn't know. And she never will."

"So are you just going to pretend like I never existed?"

"No, I'm going to tell her that you ran away like the coward you are."

After holding his emotions in for so long, Joren finally broke down. "But you told me to do whatever it took to stop her!" he choked out between sobs. He knew that he was breaking the Stone Mountain golden rule: never show weakness. The dirt and hay dust from the stables burned his throat as he shakily inhaled a steadying breath. "It's you're fault!"

Burchard leaned in until his face was nearly touching Joren's before speaking, "I didn't force you to do it. You decided it had to be done out of your own accord. And besides," Joren could feel his hot breath on his neck. "I never told you to get caught."

He then forced Joren onto his horse, and gradually led him out into the warm summer air. "You know," he broke the silence, and looked up at his young son. "I hear Carthak is nice this time of year." And with that, he slapped Joren's horse once from behind and the gelding took off, leading Joren out of the city and leaving Burchard childless for the second time in his life.

_I have never been more scared than I was in the first few hours of my journey down the Great Road. I knew that the city of Persopolis was about a week away, and I made it there without a problem. My father left me just enough money for supplies, and, after a night of fitful sleep in a dirty inn near the town brothel, the cesspool of Persopolis' finest, I was on the road to Carthak the next morning. Taking the great southern road through the mountainous area of Tortall near the Great Inland Sea wasn't an easy feat, but if I could manage it back then, then anyone could. Plus, thanks to my father's skillful packing, I was well prepared for any weather the gods sent my way. It took about two weeks to reach the ferry to Carthak and I spent the very last of the money my father left me on the boarding pass on the ferry. So once I reached a large village on the outskirts of the capital city, my funds were exhausted. Looking back, I don't see how I had any option other than settling down there and finding a job, but it didn't actually dawn on me. I initially wandered into the village's market in search of finding something to eat, then continuing on into Carthak. I guess the gods had a different plan._

The open air market of the village of Merca was bustling with activity late in the afternoon on the day of Joren's arrival. The peasants of the town had set up booths filled with everything from fabrics, foods, and household items to weaponry and texts. Livestock wandered aimlessly throughout the area and the sounds of a group of traveling musicians infiltrated the main square. Joren led his horse between the rows of goods, evading the beckoning gestures and calls of the merchants trying to interest him in a "deal". His evasion techniques apparently weren't as effective as he had hoped, because minutes later he felt a hand on his shoulder. Joren spun around quickly and found himself face to face with the oldest man he had ever seen. Ok, well maybe that was a slight exaggeration, but it was obvious that the man facing him had lived a rough life. The man was tall, despite his curving back, and towered over Joren. His frame was frail, however, and his thinning white hair stood comically on end. The lines on his face were so deep that they looked as if they were carved in stone.

"You looking for work?" He asked in an articulate, thickly accented voice.

Despite the fact that everything about this man deeply frightened Joren, he sneered up at him. "I don't think so."

The man looked him up and down, noting every detail, from his stained, dirty clothing, to his matted hair and the bit of blood still on the neck of his shirt. "What are you, a runaway?" He paused. When Joren didn't answer, he continued. "I own a blacksmith's shop two streets over from the market and I'm looking for a…apprentice, of sorts. I'll give you food and a place to stay for a year in exchange for your services. After you've completed a year of work, I'll give you 40 silver nobles and send you on your way. Come on, son, what other option do you have?"

Joren once again sent him a look of disgust, turned around, and walked away.

Three days later, he found the man in the market again.

"I didn't think I would be seeing you again, son," the man coolly responded as Joren approached him.

"I want to accept your job offer"

He grinned wryly. "I don't know…you look a little too fragile for work as a blacksmith."

"I could work circles around you," Joren snarled.

At this the old man laughed. "I don't doubt that; I'm an old man!" He looked Joren up and down once more, and finally stuck out his hand. "The name's William"

Joren hesitated for a moment, and then grasped his hand. "I'm Thomas."

"Thomas." William paused for a moment and then continued, accepting the lie. "Well, Thomas, can you read and write?"

Joren looked at him in shock, obviously insulted. "Of course!"

"Can you speak Scanran?"

"No"

"Tyran?"

"No."

"How about Yamani?"

"What does this have to do with swinging a hammer anyway?"

William laughed, ignoring Joren's disrespectful air. "It has everything to do with it." He grabbed the reigns of Joren's horse out of his hands. "Now come along, we have a lot of work to do."

_The old man gave me everything without a question and how did I repay him? By fully ruining his life. I regret what I did to him more than anything I've ever done in my life, but I made the decision to do what I did and now I have to live with it. Please remember that I warned you. I'm not a good person._

_My days with him and what I did is a story for another time, but that story triggered a series of events that ended up with me spending the past three weeks in a Carthaki jail. I didn't do anything serious, mind you, but I did commit my third strike. Okay, it was more like my twelfth strike. But, anyway, I had been Marked, yet again, as a thief (luckily, the Marker was a former "friend", so it was relatively painless and it ended up looking pretty good if I do say so myself), and now I was just biding my time, waiting for them to grow tired of holding me and let me go. They usually held me for about a month so I figured my time was almost up. Little did I know that today would be the day that I had a visitor who would demand to take me back to a place to which I had no desire to return._

Twenty-four year old Joren, formally of Stone Mountain, stretched across the dirt floor of his prison cell, arching his aching back and raising his arms overhead. He then sighed and sat up, running his uninjured hand through his short, white-blond hair. His once feminine features had changed with age: his strong, sharp jaw line and his severe, albeit slightly bent (a permanent reminder from his last day at the palace) nose gave the appearance of a stern, testing man who was not one to be messed with. The difficulty of the last few years of his life did not go unnoticed. A long, thick scar crossed the left side of his face, extending diagonally from the side of his chin until it disappeared into his hairline, about a half an inch away from his shocking, ice-blue eye and half of his right earlobe was missing. His last robbery resulted with a broken wrist, which he kept in a sling, and he walked with a permanent limp from a busted knee, thanks to his last encounter with William. Twelve black lines were tattooed down his right arm, from his collarbone to his wrist, Carthak's new policy to help identify its most notorious thieves, and everything about Joren screamed notoriety.

His weeks at the prison had gone without a single visitor; Joren's real friends knew better than to be seen in a place like this. So you can imagine his surprise when two prison guards tied his hands together and escorted him to the makeshift visiting chamber of the small town jail, sitting him down in chair at the far corner of the large table in the center of the room.

Joren looked up at the less malicious looking of the two guards. "Care to tell me what I'm doing here?"

"Seems someone actually has the pity to visit you, ghost." The guards had given him this colorful nickname during his first visit to the prison, due in part to his pale skin and hair, and also due to his crimes, where he could enter the houses of his victims with unbelievable ease and without notice, much like the ghosts of myth.

The second, slightly more evil guard reopened the door that the group had previously entered, and led his visitor to the table, sitting her down opposite from Joren. She was older than Joren, probably in her early forties, but equally as pale, and as scarred. Her long dark hair did nothing to conceal the five inch, jagged scar that lined her forehead and stopped mere centimeters away from her right eye and, visible due to the sweeping neckline of her olive green dress, burn scars covered her exposed chest. Although the woman was completely unfamiliar to him, Joren felt a brief flicker of recognition upon glancing in her huge violet eyes.

She turned toward the guards. "You can leave us now. Thomas and I have a lot of catching up to do". Once she heard the click of the closing door, she turned to him and studied him for a moment. "Well, Joren, you've sure grown up. But I guess we've both changed a bit since the last time we met."

**AN: okay, a few notes… I have been thinking about writing this story for about three years and I've previously posted one or two chapters of stories very slightly similar to this one over the years. However, I do intend to continue this one, if enough people enjoy it. This story is pretty much AU after the events of Page, but every character other than Joren is the same as they were at the end of Squire. I never read Lady Knight, so obviously I don't know what happens in that book, though I have a feeling that Joren remains dead. The town of Merca is all mine (actually, I read it out of my history book, I think...there are also other history refrences, such as the cesspool theory, etc, which come from my textbook), but I tried to take the rest of the geography directly out of the cover of the Alanna books. **

**The title of this story was originally supposed to be Rumors of my Death Have Been Greatly Exaggerated, the famous quotation from the author Mark Twain, but, after having a high school English teacher who was absolutely obsessed with the man, I got sick of him. Last year, I pretty much fell in love with a band called Rise Against, who has a song entitled "Rumors of my Demise Have Been Greatly Exaggerated", and I thought the reference and the lyrics were really cool, so, that's the title. The title of the song and the lyrics themselves will play an important part in later chapters.**

**Finally, Joren's present with the "mysterious" (I'm sure you all figured it out) woman, his thoughts, his past with William, and everything in between will continue to weave in and out of this story and everything will be answered, so PLEASE REVIEW AND LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!!!**


	3. Deux

Once word of Joren's existence had reached her a month earlier, Alanna had done nothing but search the streets of Merca for this possible ally, despite the warnings from a dear friend of hers that he would be nothing but trouble. As she looked upon the man seated in front of her, she immediately knew what Keladry of Mindelan had meant, and wondered if her entire trip here was pointless. Physically, she knew that he was just what they were looking for. Joren had the build of a natural athlete and he had easily grown six inches since they last met. However, he still carried himself with an air of aristocracy that eight years as a peasant couldn't cure. Obviously, life hadn't been an easy ride for him and his appearance showed signs of the hardships he endured. Instead of the beautiful, albeit slightly feminine boy she once knew, the Joren sitting before her today was scarred, rugged, and harsh, and yet still strikingly handsome. However, his ego was obviously just as big as before and she knew that convincing him to join them wouldn't be an easy task.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Joren. I'm here today because I need your help." She knew that being a shrewd judge of character was practically in the job description of becoming a thief so honesty would be the only way to convert him. Plus, she figured that appearing vulnerable would appeal to his ego, which could only work to her advantage.

He raised an eyebrow, "Absolutely." Sarcasm. She didn't expect anything less from the son of Burchard of Stone Mountain. "With what?"

The Lioness smiled. "Why, with the revolution."

* * *

William dropped Thomas's bags on the dirt floor of his two-room cottage. "Welcome to my humble home. The shop and the barn are out back."

"You live _here_?" Thomas looked around, horrified at the filth around him. He knew that he couldn't survive for a year in this grime.

William looked him over shrewdly, wisdom etched in every deep line in his face. "Well I know it's nothing like your home in Tortall, but then what did you expect?"

"How did you--"

"Well, boy, what can I say? I'm full of surprises. But as long as no one's going to be looking for you or think I took you, then I don't care what you say you are. You can claim to be Tortallian nobility for all I care." He said with a snort, not knowing how close his jest was to the truth.

"No one's looking for me."

William opened his mouth to respond, but paused once he saw that for the first time, Thomas looked shamed and vulnerable, and William again remembered just how young he really was. He simply cleared his throat and slapped the boy on the back.

"Well, then, I guess I should show you what you're supposed to do. It really won't be as complicated as it sounds, once you get your strength up." He laughed a bit at Thomas' response to this, but continued talking and walked back out of the front door, with his new apprentice following. "This place really is quite large for just three people. The Ponimaver family's home is half the size of this place and ten people stay there! So, you could have it worse."

"Wait, three?"

William grinned. "I forgot to mention that, didn't I? My granddaughter stays here, also. He parents couldn't take care of her so I took her in. She's the most energetic person you'll ever meet. You'll love her."

Thomas wrinkled his nose. "I doubt that."

* * *

He couldn't hold back his biting laugh at the evidently insane woman sitting before him; he had always known Alanna of Trebond to be a bit crazy, however he considered this beyond her. He fixed her with his daunting gaze. "A revolution, huh? So what exactly are you revolting from?"

She stared at him as if she regarded him with the same esteem he attributed to her, her piercing violet eyes far more intimidating than he had expected. "You have heard news from Tortall since you've been away, haven't you?" He shook his head, and she continued, painfully aware of the obviousness to the point that he wouldn't have had any contact with his former family or friends. "About two years after you left, Tortall and Scanra declared war. We attacked swiftly, assuming that defeating the Scanrans would be an easy feat. Two years later, we were defeated. They had a…weapon…that we didn't expect. The Scanrans were ruthless. They," she paused, composing herself. "They assassinated the royal family and captured everyone loyal to the crown. Every knight they could find, they imprisoned and," she subconsciously pulled up the neck of her dress, trying to hide her burn scars, "tortured until they revealed the whereabouts of others. They sacked our cities, set fire to entire fiefs, and destroyed the University, murdering every mage they could find. Everyone who survived the first year went underground, hiding from the death that lurked around every corner. Some of our greatest men and women died during those months and the death toll is still unknown. Even with all the progress we've made, we still have a very long way to go.

"Those of us who escaped, disguised ourselves as best we could and banded together in a small community in Tyra, where we train and find as many people as we can to help our cause. And we are getting stronger than we ever hoped. This started as just something to do instead of surrendering to them entirely. Now," her enormous violet eyes brimmed with emotion, "we actually have a chance. We lost so many, too many, and I will not let their deaths be in vain. And we need your help."

"If you don't mind me asking, what good am I for your cause? Why would you risk revealing all of this to free a thief?" His sonorous voice held an accusing tone.

She smiled wryly. "Joren, you're asking this to the wife of the King of Thieves, so don't try to imply that I'm judging you by how you live. But you were well trained in weaponry and had almost finished yours studies to become a knight before," she paused for a brief moment, and then went for it, "you were kicked out. You have a gift. You were well educated at the palace and you were a citizen of Tortall. I came here in hopes that you still held pride in your former homeland and that you couldn't completely turn your back on your past."

"Well," Anger seemed to seep from him as he got up from the table and began to pace around the room. "What makes you think that I'd be so eager to help out a country that sent a child out into the world all alone?" He slammed his tied fists against the table, cursing when his broken wrist made contact with the hard wood. "I had to create a new life from nothing!"

Alanna looked at him, confused at his swift temper. "The courts exiled you from the city of Corus for five years, with the intention that you would hide out on your family's fief until Kela—until you could no longer make a mess of things. They never expected you to run off completely alone". Joren opened his mouth as if to retort, and then, remembering his father's planned excuse for his disappearance, quickly shut it. That bastard had come up with this all on his own.

The Lioness gave him a slight smile. "Plus, if I don't take you with me, you have to stay in this prison and serve the remainder of your sentence. They made it a year this time."

He sighed and sat back down. "It sounds like I don't have much of a choice, then."

She genuinely smiled this time. "I like to believe my words of encouragement inspired you to want to help our cause, but I'll settle for forced assistance."

Joren leaned away from her, wearing a blank expression. "Did anyone that I know make it to Tyra?"

Alanna looked at him quizzically. "I'm not saying that a person is either at our camp or dead, Joren. Many people fled the country and even more are still hidden within. Tortall is a very big place. But, let's see, some of our strongest made it…Raoul of Goldenlake, Numair Salmalin, Keladry of Mindelan…"

"Oh, wonderful. My biggest fans."

"Now come on, Joren. A lot of time has passed. If you don't consider yourself to be the same person who left that palace eight years ago, then how can you expect that from them?" He didn't have a response for that.

"So you'll come with me?" When he didn't so much as change his expression, she rolled her eyes. "You have to at least acknowledge what I've said with a yes or a no". He sat still for a few more moments before finally nodding. "Alright then. We'll leave first thing tomorrow morning. We have a room at an inn in town for tonight." At this, Joren paled.

"I might not be that well received at just any inn in town."

Alanna waved her arm, nonchalantly. "Well, you can wear a hood or something."

"That's not going to--"

Alanna stood up, silencing him. "I'll go notify the guards."

* * *

_I couldn't believe how weak I'd become. I used to dream of the day that someone (granted, it was never the Lioness herself) tracked me down and welcomed me back to the county. In this dream, though, I always sent them away without dignifying them with a response. In fact, while we were at the prison, I still held fast to the idea that the second I was freed from Carthak, I would leave the lady knight alone, and flee to the Copper Isles. But, truth be told, the Lioness actually began to grow on me before that first day ended._

As the duo approached the third inn of the night, Alanna began to grow a bit impatient. "I don't care if you robbed the owner blind or slept with his daughter, we're staying in this one."

"I've never stayed here before and I've never met the owner. OR his daughter," he grinned slightly.

The older woman smiled, happy to detect even the slightest hint of an emotion similar to humor in the young man's voice. "Great. It's settled then. I'll go get us a room. Two beds—I don't want you trying anything."

Joren smirked down at her, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

"Well, after all the stories I've heard tonight, I thought I'd just make everything clear." She said, managing to hold her stern face for a few seconds before dissolving into a grin.

"You know, you're not as bad as I expected." Alanna began as the pair walked through the entrance of the seedy inn.

"Well I was just released from prison, so forgive me if I'm of an elevated mood. Wait a few days before you form any opinion of me."

"I'm sure that in time you'll live up to my expectations".

Joren genuinely laughed as he held open the door to their room. He was shocked to find that he was actually enjoying her company as well. "Well, I wouldn't want to disappoint."

The room was large for a place as shabby as their particular inn. The two beds were on opposite sides of the large space and the room even contained a small, secluded area where a warm bath was already drawn, much to the delight of the two occupants, one of whom hadn't bathed in weeks.

For the next few hours, after each was effectively cleansed, Joren attempted to read a novel that the previous occupant had left in the room while Alanna spent the time looking over a bundle of parchment that she had removed from her bag upon arrival.

"Those lines on your arm, you get one for each crime you commit, right?" Alanna had apparently grown bored with her papers and had focused her attention onto Joren's exposed wrist.

Joren closed his book. "Every time you get caught."

"So you weren't that lucky, huh?"

He sent a rueful grin in her direction. "I guess you could say that. My mother always said that I was cursed."

"And you believe that?"

"No. I think curses are nothing but a way people pass the blame of their own failures onto something else."

"Spoken like a true misanthrope."

"Everyone becomes a misanthrope if they've dealt with the real world for long enough."

After a few moments of silence, Alanna changed the subject. "Joren, don't you want to know what's become of your family? You haven't even mentioned them since I told you of the war."

Joren looked up sharply, fixing his intense gaze on Alanna. Something about his gaze made her feel as if he were looking into her mind and reading every thought in her head. "I figured that if you didn't bring them up, then the news could only be bad." Truth be told, he was dying to hear of what had happened to his former home, but he didn't want this to be known.

His stare was making her uncomfortable, as if he were challenging her, so she aligned her eyes squarely with his. "Stone Mountain was one of the first fiefs to burn. We still aren't sure who survived, if anyone."

Joren broke her gaze, blew out the candle, and rolled over so his back was facing her.

"Joren?" She questioned in the dark. He never responded.

* * *

The sun was shining brightly, illuminating her long red hair as she danced around under the cloudless blue sky. She lifted her arms up into the air, and looked up, the cool fall breeze leaving small goosebumps on her exposed arms. She looked over at his approaching form and laughed, before falling, seemingly weightless, as if the wind had just blown her back, into the mountain of leaves behind her, remnants of orange, red, and yellow covering her tousled brown dress. Once he reached her, she sat up and looked at him with that unforgettable smile. Her bright green eyes sparkled as she gestured for him to join her. As he fell beside her, she turned, and, smiling that smile he knew he didn't deserve, ran her hand through his shoulder length white-blond hair. She pulled back her hand and held a tattered brown leaf in front of his face. She laughed again, crinkling her freckled nose, and met his eyes, a thoughtful expression etched on her face. "Why did you do it?" He'd forgotten how melodic her voice was, the innocent, whimsical tone that he hadn't heard in years. He took a moment to respond, wishing to savor the sound of her voice in his ears for as long as possible.

"It was an accident."

She gave him a sad smile. "No, it wasn't."

He took a deep breath, running his hand through his currently long hair before responding. "I did what I thought I had to do."

She smiled, genuinely this time. "I know." A look of worry flashed before her eyes and she coughed, bright red blood spewing from her mouth. She began to whimper and leaned forward, coughing again, staining the dead leaves below her dark crimson. "Liv?" His voice shook and she coughed again. "Stop!" He wasn't sure if was addressing Livia or the gods themselves. "Please," he whispered. "Just stop!"

Livia reached forward, grasping the front of his shirt tightly, and looked him square in the eye. "You did this! Don't let me -"

Tears were spilling down his face as he choked out his next words. "I didn't know it would turn out how it did. Please," he pulled her frail, paling form into his arms. "If I could go back and change it—"

Her emerald green eyes met his and he felt as if she were deciding the fate of his soul. "You wouldn't"

When Joren woke up, he was shaking.

* * *

The next morning Alanna awoke to an empty room. Joren's bed was neatly made, but Joren was nowhere to be found. She dressed, ate breakfast, and packed up her belongings, but he still didn't return. After an hour of waiting around, Alanna began to realize that maybe he wouldn't be coming back. So she paid the innkeeper, saddled up and mounted her horse, prepared to ride back to Tyra empty handed.

"Forgotten about me already?"

She sighed, and turned to face him. He walked up toward her, carrying a large bag, and leading his old black horse from his days at the palace. "Had to grab my things."

"I thought you'd run off."

"If I said I was coming with you, that means I'm coming with you. You didn't need to worry."

Alanna sighed. She had a feeling he wasn't telling her the whole story as to where he'd been. But they were already two hours off schedule and she didn't have the time to question him now. "Well, let's go then. We're already late."

Joren mounted his horse quite comically, trying not to use his broken wrist or his busted knee. He awkwardly pulled himself up into the saddle and Alanna couldn't help but laugh at the gawkiness, of his moves. Everything about the way Joren held himself was fluid and graceful, and to see him so gangly and ungainly cheered her up a bit.

Joren did not see the humor in this. "Are you laughing at me?" he questioned, breathless from the strain of pulling himself onto the back of the horse.

She was starting to shake now. "Yes!" and then, amongst gasps for air, she continued: "You can't even mount a horse, and yet you're going to help us save the world?"

Then, in a haughty tone, Joren defended himself. "I've been lying in a prison cell for three weeks! I'm just a little sore, that all. Plus, you're the one who came to me."

Alanna clutched her horse as her body shuddered with laughter and tears poured down her face. "I don't even….know…what's so….funny…" The absurdity of the situation was getting to her. After everything that she'd been through, after all that she'd lost, she was currently in the cultural capital of the world trying to "rescue" a pompous asshole who didn't even need rescuing.

"Me either," Joren began as led his horse past hers, trying his hardest to mask the smirk on his face. "If you don't stop you're going to fall off your horse." He yelled behind him as his horse broke off into a canter down the narrow sandy road in from of her.

* * *

It took four days until they set foot on Tyran soil. They made it to one of Carthak's many port cities before nightfall on day one and boarded a ship headed for Tyra the next morning. The trip over took almost three full days, where Alanna spent the time alone in her room, trying to fight off her usual bout of seasickness. Joren's words of warning about the longevity of his good mood were proven true and he stayed almost completely silent, talking to her only when absolutely necessary. He also spent the journey locked in his room, but Alanna had a feeling it was more for the fact that he wanted to be alone rather than seasickness like herself.

In the short time that she'd known him, Joren had proven to be somewhat of a challenge. When he was in a good mood, he was actually fairly enjoyable company. But when he was in a bad mood, he would bite her head off after the simplest of questions, or, for the majority of the time, ignore her entirely. She couldn't understand what triggered his frequent mood swings, but remembering the stories she'd heard from Keladry (or rather, Neal) about Joren in his younger days, she considered him now to be a vast improvement. She hated to say it, given all of the horrors she'd heard, but she actually found him to be a tolerable person. And she knew her former squire would probably refuse to speak to her once he found this out.

About an hour outside of port, Alanna was packing her things, and trying to hold down her breakfast, when she heard a knock at the door.

"Come in, Joren", she distractedly yelled toward the door, while throwing the last few items of her clothing into the top of an already bulging saddlebag.

The younger man lackadaisically strolled into the room and collapsed onto her bed. "Ok, so what's the plan?" He was dressed in what were probably some of the finer things he owned, a dark brown pair of breeches and a loose, off-white shirt, which probably weren't even worth a fraction of the amount of the most modest item that she owned. She was also aware that she wasn't the only one who noticed this, and she had a feeling that Joren had noticed it far earlier than she had. There was now a class difference between the two of them that hadn't been there before.

She stood up and brushed a strand of her now dark locks out of her eyes. "What plan?"

He snorted. "How about where exactly are we going? What are we going to do once we get there? Around how many people are there? Am I to be sleeping in a tent or are there actual houses there? How many more days of riding until we arrive? What do -"

She held up a hand and silenced him. "We are going to a small village in the northeast of Tyra, deep in hill country, a few miles from the Maren border. There ARE actual houses their; we've set up a community with healers, educators, mages, farmers, and weapons trainers. We're a fully functional town, and every citizen does his or her part to make sure we stay that way."

"Any blacksmith there?" She read right through the feigned indifference in his tone.

Alanna snorted. "So you're a former noble turned thief who moonlights as a blacksmith?"

He grinned. "I'm full of surprises." His grin faded once he remembered the last time he'd heard someone use those exact words. Alanna failed to notice and smirked. "Oh I don't doubt that. Anyway, in this village, where we do have a blacksmith, are around two hundred and fifty to three hundred people. Once we arrive, you will begin your training, and I will assist you to the best of my abilities."

Joren sat up, puzzled. "Training?"

"Yes. It will actually be remotely similar to your studies at the palace. You will continue weapons training, as well as hand-to-hand combat. You'll need to learn Scanran and, since you have the gift, you'll be mentored by a mage to help you increase your abilities." She said the last part lightly, hoping he wouldn't notice the true importance of her last words.

He scowled. "Does everyone have to do this or am I just a special case?"

"We all do. When we aren't out on 'missions' to find more of our own, we train, to keep our skills intact. Did you forget that we're trying to start a war?"

He sighed. "Fine then." And then he continued, boastfully. "Oh, and I can already speak Scanran. And Tyran, Gallic, and Yamani."

His tone was arrogant, but boosting his ego didn't stop her from looking at him, wide eyed with shock.

"I told you I was full of surprises."

"That you did. That being said, we are meeting up with a few more Tortallians at the Tyran border. We'll travel the last half of the journey with them." She shifted her weight, slightly uncomfortable, a tell that Joren noticed.

"What are you not telling me?"

"Nothing". She said, a little too quickly.

"Alanna," he stood up and walked over to her, his forehead furrowing with worry. "Who exactly are we meeting?"

She grinned sheepishly.

* * *

Nealan of Queenscove was an attractive man of average height and build, with unruly brown hair and clear, mischievous green eyes. Dressed in an expensive pair of breeches and shirt, he fit the part of refined gentleman perfectly. Well, he would have fit the part, had he not been throwing odd stones from the shore at a group of gulls gathered a few yards up.

"Neal, stop it! What if you hit one?" his closest friend, Keladry of Mindelan yelled at him from the water's edge. They had been inseparable since they were pages together, and the trying circumstances of the past few years had brought them even closer. Death was everywhere still, but Neal hadn't dealt with the death of a loved one firsthand, as Keladry had. Her fiancée was murdered in front of her two years before; he died in her arms. She didn't speak for three months after that and she had just recently begun to show signs of healing fully. She was finally joking around with him, much like the Kel from before, but there was still a darkness to her spirit that he had a feeling would never disappear

"You've seen my aim, Kel. You know I haven't got a chance."

She smirked and walked toward him. "You're right. I have nothing to worry about." The crisp sea breeze chilled her exposed neck and sent the few strands of hair that weren't secured in her tight bun whipping. "When did Alanna say she'd be here?"

"Around," he wound up and threw another pebble, missing again, "Ugh, lunchtime. Any time now. Do you know who she was going after this time?"

She sighed and placed her hands on her hips, stretching out her back. "She didn't say. You know she never says in case she can't find them."

"I know." He said, throwing and missing again. "But normally you figure it out."

"That's only because Alanna normally makes it plainly obvious, especially when she spends the previous week only asking about the person she's sent to retrieve."

Neal smirked. "But?"

Neal knew her too well. "But Numair showed particular interest in whoever it was."

Neal turned to face her. "Do you think they found Daine?"

"No, if it were Daine then I would think that Numair would have made the journey with her. It's probably just a mage or someone with a strong gift that Numair will have to train. Like last time." Neal's face fell, crestfallen, but he hid this from his friend by bending over and picking up another rock. "That ship out there – do you think it's them?" She gestured to a small ship that had just anchored in the harbor.

Neal glanced quickly out toward the sea. "Probably." He released the rock, quickly raising his arms over his head in celebration once he hit his target. "I hit one!"

Kel glared at him. "It's not moving".

They ran over toward the fallen gull. "Well Neal, are you happy? You killed it."

He paled. "It's bad luck to kill a gull."

"There's no such thing as luck." Kel darkly looked out toward the harbor, where the boat had now docked. "Come on, or we'll miss Alanna." She started walking up the beach. Neal caught up to her and placed his arm around her shoulder.

"I'm sorry I killed the bird." As his green eyes met her hazel ones, she couldn't help but laugh. "Forgive me?"

"Now you've jinxed us even more." She laughed at the slightly worried expression he was trying to conceal.

* * *

"Why do I have the feeling that I'm about to hate you?" Joren questioned as he leaned on a gate by the dock.

"You mean you don't hate me already? I'm touched." Alanna held her hand over her eyes, shielding out the sun, while scanning the crowd for her friends.

He snorted. "Yeah, we could've been great friends."

Alanna smiled and patted his arm. "We still will be." She jumped off the gate and walked toward the crowd. "There they are."

As Joren scanned the crowd from his position on the fence, his eyes were drawn immediately toward her. She was tall, a good head taller than her companion, who Joren immediately recognized to be Nealan of Queenscove, her best friend ever since he'd known her. Even Joren wouldn't deny that she was beautiful, but with her now long light brown hair tied into a tight bun and a stern expression on her face, she still gave off the vibe of someone who wasn't to be messed with. Not that that had ever stopped him before. Inhaling deeply, he set off toward the group, putting all of his effort into hiding his faint limp. He would rather be damned than show any sign of weakness, especially to them.

Keladry broke out into a huge smile as she embraced her former idol. As she looked around, she realized that Alanna was alone. "You couldn't find them?"

Alanna smiled up at her warmly. "No, he's right over by the gate."

Neal looked over toward the gate and groaned. "I told you I shouldn't have killed the damn bird."

Kel ended their embrace and looked toward the gate. The man was too far away to see, but he was now walking toward them. "Why? Who is it?"

Alanna sternly looked each of them in the eye. "Now, I'll tell both of you like I told him: remember that eight years have passed. A lot has happened in eight years."

Keladry felt sick. "Joren. It's Joren."

"Remember Kel, he ran away last time, he'll run away again." Neal was fuming now. He turned to Alanna. "How could you bring him?!"

Alanna looked as if she were about to hit him, and opened her mouth to probably yell, but Kel spoke up first. "He didn't run away."

Both of them looked at her incredulously. Their replies were cut short, however, as Joren finally reached the group.

If she hadn't been expecting him, she would have never recognized him. He was more striking than ever, much to her dismay. She knew it to be childish, but a small part of her hoped him to be covered in boils or something equally disfiguring. She was partly pleased, however, when she noticed that he stood no taller than she did. She jokingly wondered how it would be possible for him to look down on her, when nature forced him to look her eye to eye.

Alanna put her arm around him. Neal, noticing this gesture stared at her in disbelief. "Nealan, Keladry, this is Joren. I think you've all met before, but that was very long ago, so I thought I'd make an introduction, just to be sure." She was rambling, trying to disguise the obvious awkwardness of the situation.

No one said or did anything for a few moments before Neal's perpetual kindness finally kicked in and he stuck out his hand to Joren, who smirked down at it without even moving his. After a few seconds, Neal dropped his hand, with a look of what was the closest to hatred that Joren assumed Neal could ever feel.

Alanna cleared her throat. "Are you all ready to leave then?"

AN: I worked really really hard on this so please review, even if it's just to say that you don't like it. I just want to know that someone is actually reading this.

I posted the unedited version of this first, but this is the fixed chapter, sorry.


	4. Tre

A Big thanks to Misled Nymph for betaing!

Temper filled with blindness  
Leads this lost and lonely man  
Dragged around your whipping tree  
A scourge you can't command  
So deafen me with silence  
Drown me with your roar  
Scowl me with your hollow eyes  
Still burning to the core

No door will go unanswered  
Like so many closed before  
No vagabond to knock upon  
This tired and beating war

When all return from exile  
Free from all once bound  
Decline and brawl old parasites  
The truth will yet be found

- Flogging Molly, _Another Bag of Bricks_

The group decided to make camp at nightfall. After a full day of strenuous riding, they had reached the foothills of the mountainous terrain. Tomorrow's half of the journey would be treacherous, but, if they kept on schedule, they would reach their destination by the next night.

The first day was just as awkward as Alanna feared it would be. The majority of the ride was silent; the only sounds were the light attempts at conversation between Neal and herself – Keladry spoke when spoken to; usually with short, straightforward answers. Joren, on the other hand, didn't open his mouth the entire day, but then again, there really wasn't much effort to send the conversation his way. So when Joren approached Alanna as she attempted to kindle the fire, she was a bit surprised.

"You have the Gift, why don't you just use it?" he casually asked, taking a seat on the grass a few feet behind her.

"Don't know. Just trying to seem normal, I guess. You know, not give them any clue as to where we are," she mumbled sarcastically as she leaned back from the pile of branches and leaves. With a flick of her wrist, the pile erupted into purple flames and she crawled back and sat beside Joren.

He raised an eyebrow. "Can they track your Gift or something?"

"Who knows what they can do? I wouldn't put it past them."

The duo silently stared at the purple flames spluttering upward, hammering the stars.

"Back at the pris– I mean, back in Carthak, you said something about a weapon that the Scanran army had." Joren finally asked the question that had been nagging at his thoughts since that first day.

Although her face remained devoid of any expression, Joren noticed the strange glint in her jarring eyes as she began to grant him an explanation.

"Everything okay out here?" Joren had never hated the interrupting asshole more.

Alanna plastered on a smile. "We're fine, just admiring the stars. Care to join us?"

"Sure," Neal moved to sit by Alanna's other side, faltering slightly under the intense glare Joren shot in his direction. An uncomfortable silence followed as the group looked skyward, each person feigning amazement at the dark sight overhead.

Clearing his throat, Neal decided to break the silence. "So I killed a bird today."

The group was quiet for a few seconds, absorbing the utter randomness. Alanna was the first to break, her jovial laughter breaching the uneasy silence; Neal burst into hysterical laughter and even Joren cracked a smile.

Once the laughter had died down, and Alanna was hastily wiping the tears from her eyes, Neal pulled out his flask. "Now that I effectively killed the tension, what do you say we all share a drink?" Grinning, he turned to Joren, "You in?"

His grin really was infectious, and Joren felt the corners of his mouth twitch involuntarily. Plus, it wasn't as if he was going to turn down a free drink. "Alright."

Alanna pulled the deerskin flask from Neal's extended hand and took a swig. "Let's bury the hatchet, so to speak," she tentatively began, and passed the container to Joren, who gulped down what seemed like a fourth of its contents before passing it back to its owner.

"As I recall, you used to take every opportunity to speak, but I don't think I've heard you say a word yet. Did you finally piss off the wrong person and lose your tongue, Joren?" Neal's tone was light, but his eyes flashed menacingly. Obviously, the 'hatchet' wasn't as easy to bury as Alanna hoped. He took a swallow large enough to match Joren's, but cringed afterward, expressing his novice.

Not one to be intimidated, Jofren met his dangerous gaze. "I guess things change."

"How is everyone back at the colony? Any new developments since I've been gone?" Noticing the dark subtext of the two male's attempt at light conversation, Alanna changed the subject.

"No, not really. Raoul and Merric made it back about two weeks ago. They couldn't find whoever they were sent to locate."

"We didn't really think they would, but we thought they should try nonetheless. Where's Kel?" Alanna knocked back another sip and handed the bottle off to the blonde, who took a smaller sip this time.

"She went for a walk."

"You let her go alone?" She shrieked as she turned to face Neal, horrified.

The man hastily grabbed the flask and shrugged. "She said she needed some time alone to think things through," Again, he fixed his glare on Joren. Alanna dropped the subject and the trio passed the bottle around silently for a good twenty minutes, before the eldest bowed out of the circle. She realized about halfway through the flask that Neal's 'hospitality' was really just some sort of ridiculous testosterone-driven competition between the two men.

However, once Neal began to feel the alcohol, he began verbally attacking Joren again. "So, if you weren't in Tortall, where have you been all this time?"

The younger man rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Training with the Bazhir, how about yourself?"

"Oh, only risking my life for my country. Nothing too exciting."

Joren's posture became rigid and anger seemed to radiate from his solid form. "Are you accusing me of something, Nealan?" He spat out his name venomously.

"Only of being a coward! You were living happily in Carthak while your country was dying!" Both men jumped to their feet and moved inches away from one another.

"You have no idea what happened to me after I was kicked out," he spat, using his towering height as a physical threat to the smaller man.

"Well, I'm pretty sure it didn't involve watching everyone you've ever cared about suffer."

He grinned sardonically. "You'd be surprised."

Neal's fists clenched dangerously by his sides and he looked as if he were seconds away from his breaking point. But the argument was cut short as Kel raced back to the group, breathless. Alanna was the first to notice her arrival.

"What's wrong?" the older woman's forehead creased with worry.

Kel's mask dissipated and unveiled an expression of fear. "I found a body in the woods." She began, panting. "It was them."

* * *

The loud boom of metal hitting metal echoed throughout the blacksmith shop and into surrounding area, audible as far as inside the small home. It was two weeks after his arrival at William's 'home' and Thomas was hard at work, using the ridiculously heavy hammer to shape the malleable metal into some sort of shield. He had to admit that the work was much more difficult than he'd originally thought it would be. But hell, he'd never had any experience with manual labor, so what did they expect him to do, miraculously teach himself how to bang two rocks together? Well, when he put it that way, the task didn't seem quite as strenuous as it actually was.

"You're holding it wrong." Thomas whirled around, hastily dropping the hammer as he spun to face the accented intruder.

"Who are you?" He snarled at the newcomer, a young woman who stared at him indignantly. She was fairly tall for an average woman, a few inches taller than Thomas himself, and thin, though not drastically so. Light freckles dusted her alabaster skin and long, vibrant red hair hung down past her waist. She looked much older than Thomas, but he knew she couldn't be more than a few years his senior or she would already have been married off for some measly dowry.

"Who am I? I'm the girl whose job you took," she smirked and gestured to the hammer. "Like I said, you're holding it wrong."

He dropped the hammer and hastily wiped his forehead to keep the streams of perspiration out of his eyes. The heat from the still-lit forge enveloped the duo like thick blanket. "I took your job?" Disbelief radiated from his condescending face.

"You'll dislocate your shoulder if you keep that up. Here," she walked over to him and picked the hammer up off the ground.

Within minutes she finished the shield, a task that would have taken him hours.

_At first, I assumed that with her spindly arms she wouldn't even be able to lift the hammer. Or maybe I just assumed she was weak because she was female. That was the first time I underestimated Livia; after that day, you think I would've learned my lesson. But up until the day she died, she never ceased to amaze me. _

* * *

"How old was it?" The group was now rushing through the woods, following Keladry to the body. Purple light illuminated the path as Alanna's Gift did what it could to aid in the search.

"A few weeks old, at least." Fury burned her features. It was an anomaly to see her express any emotion; Joren found it unnerving. "It was only a child. A little girl. She couldn't have been more than eight." Suddenly she stopped.

Joren didn't see anything at first, and thought the younger woman had stopped prematurely. But then he noticed the purple glow sparkle on an object a few feet in front of him – the torso of a little girl.

Her body had been ripped in half around the navel, and Joren felt his stomach turn as he realized that the shimmering object was her exposed backbone. One of her arms jutted upward in an unnatural position while the other was completely detached, laying a few feet away from the body. What was left of the torso was covered in thick scratches—nothing smaller than a bear could leave those marks. The bottom half was nowhere to be found. Joren quickly averted his eyes; if he looked at it any longer, he knew he would be sick.

Alanna met his worried stare. "Well, now you know what we're up against." Turning back to the less shocked members of the group, she continued. "She's been here for at least a month; it looks like she was attacked by only one of them, not a group, so I think there's no cause for alarm. Let's bury her and then head back to camp. We've got a long day tomorrow and we need to get some rest."

Joren stared at the older woman, wide-eyed. She seemed calm, albeit a bit unnerved, as if she dealt with this kind of thing everyday. All of a sudden, it dawned on him that it probably did. Suddenly, he wasn't so excited to be going to their hidden community. He snorted. He never thought he'd miss a Carthaki prison.

* * *

Early the next morning, Joren ignored his dull headache (whether it was a hangover, or just a side effect of the events of their late night discovery, he couldn't quite tell) and attempted to quash his uneasiness by strapping all the throwing knives he owned to his body. There was no way he'd take a chance at facing whatever the hell was out there unarmed; the knives would probably become a permanent addition to his wardrobe – one up each sleeve, one in each boot, and the largest one wrapped securely around his midsection – a small comfort that would probably do him no good when facing whatever was out there, ripping people to shreds.

Alanna and Keladry found him as he was securing the last and smallest knife in his boot. "That won't stop more than one of them, you know. The second would be on you before you even had a chance to retrieve you knife."

He grinned at the former redhead, a cocky glint in his eye. "That's why I've got more than one."

"You'd be much safer with a sword." The other two were shocked to hear Keladry speak up.

The two met eyes for a moment before Joren turned and starting walking back toward their campsite. "I'd rather have knives," he lied. He'd never admit to being unable to afford a sword.

"Still as stubborn as ever, huh?" Alanna joked.

"Yeah," Kel whispered, before continuing in an even quieter voice. "Do you think he regrets what he did to me?"

Alanna had never seen the younger woman look more vulnerable. Her strong exterior was down and Alanna knew it was killing her to open up like that. She was by nature an extremely private person and the fact that she was confiding in Alanna was an honor to the older woman. She wanted nothing more than to lie to her, but knew that if she did, she would be betraying that trust.

She sighed. "I don't think Joren is the type to regret much." Keladry just nodded and the two walked back to join the others.

* * *

As Keladry repacked the saddlebags on Hoshi, Neal rested on the ground, glaring in the direction of Alanna and Joren. "Look at them. Since when did Alanna decide to join the dark side?" Joren seemed to be telling Alanna some particularly amusing story because the Lioness' laughter rang throughout the campsite.

Kel snorted. "The dark side? Don't you think that's a bit of an exaggeration?"

"If anything, I think I'm underestimating his wickedness."

"You're just upset because he's up and feeling fine and you can't even stand without the earth spinning. What would possess you to enter a drinking competition with him anyway? Doesn't he just look like the heavy drinking type?"

Neal rolled his eyes. "I didn't plan to out drink him."

"Oh really?"

He propped himself up on his elbows and grinned. "My initial plan was to drink enough that I would have an excuse to start a fight with him. I figure that since he's injured, I would probably beat him. But, of course, you interrupted."

Kel laughed. "I think it would be a close fight, even with his broken arm."

"Yeah, but with a broken arm and his leg, I figure I have a shot."

"His leg?" she asked, puzzled.

"He favors his left leg. He tries to hide it, but if you watch him carefully, you'll see."

They both watched the blonde carefully as he walked to his tent. Sure enough, Neal was right; in fact, it was so obvious that she could not know how she missed it before. At that moment, Joren noticed their staring and, like magic, the limp vanished, his posture straightened, and he jutted his chin upward, a confident smirk plastered onto his face.

"I do wonder what happened to him, though."

"Neal, you know Joren just as well as I do. He probably just started a fight with the wrong person."

He let out a groan and fell back down onto the grass. "Out of every person she could have been going to find, it HAD to be him."

"It's not so bad. He has hardly said a word this entire trip."

"How can you be so nice to him?"

"I haven't even talked to him!"

He frustratingly ran his hand through his unruly hair. "That's the problem! You aren't doing anything about it! He hated you! How can you even stand to look at him after what he did?"

"I don't understand how you can get so upset over it. Everything worked out fine in the end." She put her emotionless mask back in place.

"How can you say that? He wasn't punished nearly enough for what he did! Don't tell me you've forgotten the four years of sheer torture! He kidnapped your friend for Mithros' sake!"

"Well, it made me a stronger person, didn't it? I don't know how I would have dealt with the past few years if I hadn't faced adversity in my past – I would've given up hope long ago. I suppose I owe him for that." She met his eyes pointedly.

"You don't mean that."

"Plus," she began, her eyes dancing, "one of us made it to knighthood while the other didn't. It seems like everything worked itself out accordingly."

"You really don't mean that."

"Yes, I do. Really, I'm fine with it"

"Well I'm not," though he was still furious, he knew their fight was over.

She smirked and sat down beside him. "Well then you really are a Meathead."

Her best friend comfortingly put his arm around her and the lady knight leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. She smiled sadly, letting out a long sigh. The nickname stirred up memories that neither wanted to confront, or ignore. "He was a good man."

"Yeah," he kissed the top of her forehead. "He was."

* * *

The days' riding went by without any interruption, and, as the sky began to darken and the group got closer to their intended destination, that uneasiness presented itself in Joren's stomach again. He ignored it, attributing it to nerves, when all of a sudden, it happened.

Alanna and Keladry were discussing the rations of the colony, their conversation growing more and more excited as they neared their destination. Neal, however, was uncharacteristically quiet, and spent the majority of the ride leaning onto the neck of his horse, letting the gelding lead him. Apparently, he was still suffering from the night before. He was paler than normal and inattentive as always. His illness gave Joren some sick feeling of superiority – the knight might have been able to outrun the injured peasant, but Joren would always be able to drink him under a table.

As the unnerved feeling hit the pit of his stomach, Joren felt a tingling sensation somewhere at the base of his neck. His gift was running haywire, icy cold pains coursed through his veins like shocks of electricity. He couldn't see or hear anything; a blinding white blue light blocked all of his senses. Before he even realized what he was doing, he had pulled out the knife from his right sleeve, and turned, throwing it to the right of him without aiming. Without thinking, he removed his second knife from the sling of his injured arm and threw it. In a rush of motion, the painful sensations and the bright light faded and Joren was back on his horse in the quiet forest, his eyes meeting the horrified ones of Alanna. Her sword was drawn but she sat, motionless, staring at something over Joren's shoulder. He turned, and faced the direction where she was staring so intently. Two men were sprawled out, one of his knives hitting each directly in the throat.

He turned back toward his group, with a look of utter surprise. It had happened again.

"Joren," Keladry's shocked voice called out. In a dazed voice, she pointed to his face. "He's bleeding."

He reached up his uninjured arm and wiped his nose, vaguely registering the blood on the tips of his fingers before he promptly passed out.

* * *

"…so I guess that's why you wanted me to find him so badly?" The first thing Joren heard, after being submerged in the depths of unconsciousness for Mithros knows how long, was a conversation about himself…he guessed that this did nothing but add fuel to the rumors of his excessive narcissism.

"I could sense that there was something different about his Gift when he was still training at the palace, but I never thought anything of it," a deep masculine voice answered Alanna's. The voice was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place it.

"Just because I brought him here doesn't mean that he'll be willing to train with you. Joren's not the easiest person to deal with. He might want nothing to do with you."

"He might."

Alanna stared at him incredulously. "What? No argument?"

The male voice laughed humorously. "Honestly, if he's as bad as you say, then I don't know what the point of arguing is. Everything is up in the air. His Gift could be a fluke; it could be completely normal and I'm just imagining things. Regardless, it's all up to him."

"I can hear you, you know." Numair and Alanna both jumped, startled. Alanna was by his side instantly. Her motherly instincts took over and, before she could stop herself, she was smiling down at him and tenderly stroking his forehead. "How are you feeling?"

Joren shrugged out of her reach, and looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. "I'm feeling like I just blacked out. Am I in a bed?"

Alanna laughed. "Yes. We made it to the colony."

Joren rolled away from her and hid his head under the covers. "You did this because you didn't trust me with its secret location, right?"

"Joren," her tone was all business as she ignored his joke. "What happened out there?"

He uncovered his head, turned to face her, and slowly sat up. "What do you mean?"

Which was apparently the wrong thing to say, because she looked pissed. "What do I mean? How about the fact that you heard two of the coming when they don't make a sound? Or that you hit both of them square in the chest without even having to aim? They were both dead in the time it took me to draw my sword!"

"I told you knives were more efficient," he mumbled.

A booming laugh sounded from the other side of the room.

"What Numair? You think this is amusing? I want to know what the hell happened out there! How was he able to use his Gift against them?" The infamous Lioness temper was finally showing itself and Joren was ecstatic that it was no longer directed at him.

However, he decided to help the older man out. "I don't know what happened. Every part of my body turns cold until I can't see or hear anything, like I'm frozen solid. I don't even know I'm moving—it's as if I'm acting purely on instinct. I didn't even know what was happening." His tone was tinged with something unidentifiable, but to Alanna it sounded something like embarrassment or shame.

"So this has happened to you before?" Numair asked, barely able to contain his excitement.

His response was so quiet that for a moment Alanna thought she'd imagined it. "Only once." She suddenly discovered that singular emotion which weighed down his voice and permeated throughout every aspect of his being: regret.

AN: Alright, well that's chapter four, hope you all enjoyed it enough to review!

Oh, and this Irish girl would like to wish you all a HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY! I included a drinking competition and Flogging Molly lyrics just for this day, haha.

On a more important note, I'm looking for a reader who knows practically all of the Tamora Pierce characters and books by heart to help me with the info for the next chapter. If I can't find anyone, I'll have to read all of the books again, and none of you want to wait for that, right? So, if you're interested in helping me out, just let me know!

This chapter is for The Red Night's Revenge, wildcat, SRC, Deadmen's Bells, SarahE7191, Eclipsa, and Misled Nymph for reviewing chapter three! Reviews really do make me update faster, and your support for this story is honestly what made me finish this chapter!

PLEASE REVIEW!!


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